


Fire and Brimstone

by sassmaster_tiresias



Category: A Knight's Tale (2001)
Genre: Again, M/M, catholic angst, geoff gives zero fucks, kate ships it, on wat's part, she's my favorite thing about this ship tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4848653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassmaster_tiresias/pseuds/sassmaster_tiresias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wat hates that bastard Chaucer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Brimstone

Wat hates that bastard Chaucer. He hates him from the moment they first meet on the road. Wat hates the way Chaucer shuffles along in the nude and doesn’t same to care. Wat hates the way Chaucer simply smirks when Wat threatens him with a good fonging. Wat hates that that smirk makes all of his words fly out of his head until he’s stuttering like more of a fool than usual. Wat hates that Will and Roland seem to find the whole situation terribly amusing.

Wat hates that bastard Chaucer.

And Chaucer seems to hang around Wat quite a bit. A good bit more than he does the others. Whenever they’re at the jousts or at the taverns or just sitting around the fire outside their tent, Chaucer is at his side. In the few moments that they’re not together, Wat figures that Chaucer’s off gambling away his money and clothes again, and Wat finds himself attempting to hunt the man down.

He never is gambling when Wat finds him. No, he’s always sitting in some tavern with a crowd around him and a pint in hand. And he always looks like he’s been waiting all night for Wat to show up.

Wat sticks around. Chaucer might get into some trouble later if Wat’s not looking after him.

Kate smiles at Chaucer a lot. Chaucer smiles back at her all the time, too, real suggestive smiles, and Wat guesses that it won’t be long until he hunts Chaucer down and finds him with Kate. He wouldn’t wish Chaucer’s idiocy on any woman, much less Kate, but Wat tells himself that that’ll be a good arrangement, because then Chaucer will be her responsibility and not his.

It hasn’t happened yet though, and so Wat still finds himself searching for Chaucer by torchlight at least once a week.

On one particular night, Wat locates Chaucer in a tavern, people close on either side of him. When Wat arrives, Chaucer commands, “Make some room for my friend,” and somebody scoots down the bench. The arm that isn’t holding Chaucer’s drink finds its way around Wat’s shoulders. Chaucer waves his tankard at the barmaid, who brings Wat a pint.

Hours later, it occurs to Wat that it’s getting late and Will has the first joust in the morning and perhaps they should be getting back to the camp. He nudges Chaucer, pulling him from the story he’s weaving for those who will listen. He raises a brow at Wat. Wat nods to the door.

“In a moment, Master Fowlehurst,” Chaucer replies, waving his companion off and turning away again.

Having been thoroughly blown off, Wat grunts in anger and grabs Chaucer by the sleeve of his stupid coat. He drags them both to their feet and marches to the door, declaring, “Now, Master Chaucer!”

Once out the door, Chaucer doesn’t object to having been dragged bodily away from his adoring audience. When Wat releases his arm, he slips his hands into his pockets and saunters along beside the still fuming Wat.

“Relax,” Chaucer commands amiably. “We’ve a lovely night about us here, at least enjoy it.”

“What’s left of it, anyway,” Wat grumbles, but his shoulders loosen despite himself and they continue in silence.

Until curiosity and a desire to be done with this late-night foolishness overcome Wat and he can’t help but ask, “Why don’t you and Kate just… ya know?”

There’s one of those infuriating smirks. “Give each other a good fonging, you mean?” Chaucer suggests, snickering a bit.

“That’s not what it means!” Wat roars, fists already raising.

Chaucer’s gentle hand lands on his shoulder, soothing. “I know, dear Wat, I know. It’s simply too much fun to get you all worked up.” The smirk is a grin now, which is only slightly better, in Wat’s opinion. He speaks again when it seems that Wat isn’t actually going to take a swing at him at the moment. “To answer your question: I’m not interested in our lovely Kate.”

“Then why’re you two always smiling at each other?”

“Because of you.”

Again, Wat is overcome with rage. “You’re making fun of me?! I’d expect it from you, you bastard, but from Kate…!” He pulls back his fist, fully intending to land a hit this time.

Chaucer grabs the raised hand, as well as the one still at Wat’s side. He’s stronger than his skinny little body would suggest, Wat quickly discovers. He actually looks nervous as he glances around them, and then shoves Wat backwards into a narrow space between and inn and a tailor’s.

Chest to chest in the tiny space, Chaucer does not release his grip on Wat. He repeats, “I’m not interested in Kate.”

Wat’s about to snap a question about why Chaucer had to tell him that in such close quarters, but then Chaucer’s face is far closer than it was a second before and the hands on Wat’s wrists are gone. Instead they’re just barely resting on the wall on either side of Wat’s hips.

This is why Wat hates that bastard Chaucer. Because suddenly all of the words have flown out of Wat’s head and all he can think about is the way Chaucer’s lips flow with poetry like it’s nothing. Because all Wat can think about is Chaucer’s lips and it’s making his hands twitch. Because Wat’s hands are twitching with regard to Chaucer and it’s no to hit him. Because Wat’s hands are twitching to do something other than hit Chaucer and this isn’t the first time and he can feel a gaze on the back of his neck like God is watching and He knows.

After several moments of struggling, Wat is only able to remember one word and force it to the tip of his tongue where it tumbles off in a shaky gasp. “Geoff…”

Geoff isn’t touching Wat at all, except for the shallow breaths that sear Wat’s face. “Not Kate, Wat,” Geoff says again, and Jesus does Wat wish he would stop that. 

Suddenly, another word comes back to Wat. “Please,” he says.

“Please what, my dear?” Geoff asks, so tender it only makes Wat’s hands twitch more.

Wat’s knot even aware that he’s regained his vocabulary until he’s spoken. No, until he’s sobbed. “I don’t want to go to Hell.”

It’s either a sigh or a chuckle that escapes Geoff, but Wat can’t tell which it is for sure. “Oh, Wat,” Geoff says then, “is not a bit of heaven in life worth a bit of Hell together afterwards?”

Isn’t that the silliest thing Wat has ever heard? He doesn’t say it, though he means to. Instead, he tilts his head up and his lips press against Geoff’s. That seems to be Geoff’s cue to start using his hands again and they slide onto Wat’s hips, gripping so tight it almost hurts.

Wat can feel the hellfire licking at his soles as his toes curl in his boots. He seals his fate when one of his hands shoves into Geoff’s hair, pulling slightly, and the other goes under the blasted coat. Geoff pushes him hard back against the wall, and every place he touches Wat feels like it’s already burning. All Wat can see behind his closed eyes, though, is golden light.

Geoff shucks Wat’s clothes away in the privacy of their little nook. His fingertips trace lines of sin across Wat’s chest and back and stomach and everywhere else, but Wat doesn’t care. He pulls himself together long enough to return the favor. He gives a smirk of his own; Geoff is enjoying this at least as much as he is.

Wat’s hands have stopped twitching. They’re steady as the pull Geoff closer to him, trace the line of Geoff’s jaw, press against the wall to hold himself up. He feels like perhaps he could spout off some poetry that Geoff would be proud of. And those pesky eyes of God have vanished.

Maybe he can’t bear to watch.

Maybe he just doesn’t care all that much after all.

Wat falls asleep standing up at Will’s joust in the morning and drops a lance on Roland’s foot. He shakes himself into wakefulness as Roland curses, Will gives him a concerned look, and Kate snickers.

Geoff returns from his heralding and Will takes off. He breaks his lance against the other knight’s chest plate. Roland and Kate run forward to meet him and look him over. Before Wat can go after them, Geoff’s fingers ghost against the small of Wat’s back, bringing him to a complete standstill. Geoff floats past, smirking at Wat over his shoulder.

Wat hates that bastard Chaucer.


End file.
